SXSW 2025: baby/girls, Manhood, Drift

A line I keep close to my heart, and one I’ve been asking talent on red carpets and junkets, revolves around Roger’s famous words that movies are empathy machines. When I’ve asked this question, I’m always fascinated by the array of responses I hear. Rarely is one answer the same, and the multiplicity has reminded me that any movie can be an empathy machine, from the works of Lee Chang-dong to “Better Man.” 

The documentary films in this dispatch embody this sentiment; where they could have just been sensationalized stories, they are instead projects that present their subjects with grace and understanding. They are radical exercises in empathy for communities that need care and ultimately have to find their own way to save themselves amid a system that has overlooked them. 

Alyse Walsh and Jackie Jesko’s “baby/girls” takes an approach to its subject material that’s simultaneously limiting and delicate. Filmed over two years, the films document the lives of Olivia, Grace, and Ariana, teen moms living in Arkansas who wrestle with the reality of raising children in the aftermath of the Dobbs decision. The girls are based in a Christian maternity home in Arkansas called Compassion House. 

It’s a sobering, heartbreaking story of young motherhood, one that acts as a celebration of its subjects for ways they embody grace under pressure, but it’s also a caustic critique of the failure of systems in place to help people like these girls; it’s far easier to treat what happens with Olivia, Grace, and Ariana as anomalies and there’s less urgency to offer aid or fix a system just for the sake of what happens outside the margins. Hopefully, the reach of “baby/girls” can go far and wide, showcasing that the struggles these girls face need to be addressed urgently for present and future generations. 

The camerawork in “baby/girls” is one of the key markers that make this story feel grounded in its subjects’ perspective. It’s a film that never loses sight of the difficulty we’re observing as children learn to raise children, and of the struggle to live a normal teenage life while also bearing the responsibilities of motherhood. It’s gut-wrenching to watch, if only because we feel these girls shouldn’t have to deal with such questions so early on. But they all speak with refreshing candor, a testament to the safe environment the directors cultivated while filming. The girls are willing to joke about their situation and offer asides that frankly, I’m surprised to hear, given how vulnerable such statements are. 

The film is also willing to give kindness when the girls make decisions that seem ethically uncomfortable, such as one who considers giving up their child for adoption because the strain of motherhood is too much. It’s moments like these where “baby/girls” is the strongest; as viewers, we’re invited not to the dogpile in shame but to offer care and to ask about how the system, which already fails women, is responsible for creating environments where moms feel as though they have to deal with issues on their own.

Notably, the main critique that “baby/girls” gives space for is the ways the education system has failed adolescents. “I learned about sex ed when I was seven months pregnant,” one of the girls said. Furthermore, rising daycare costs mean girls aren’t able to pursue their own vocations as they may want to, so they have to rely on family support, some of whom judge them harshly. It’s powerful to witness the girls, despite their hardships, articulating a tangible hope that one doesn’t often think about when choices are limited. Olivia, Grace, and Ariana refuse to believe their stories are written, even if the world around them is all too tempted to. 

There’s a line in Eva Victor’s “Sorry, Baby” that came to mind while watching director Daniel Lombroso’s “Manhood.” In the scene in question, Lydie (Naomi Ackie) and Agnes (Victor) humorously discuss the things men say during sex. “Their dick is their whole self,” Lydie says wryly. 

While I initially felt that line was a well-written joke when I first saw the film, watching “Manhood” has unlocked a whole new layer to those words. It follows multiple stories of men who receive penis enlargement procedures and the emotional and physical lead-up time and fallout of their decision. By shedding light on a taboo subject, Lombroso ensures that we can’t easily write off what transpires in haste; it’s far too easy to either shudder at the horror of procedures gone wrong (viewers be warned that some botched work is quite horrific) or poke fun at the men going through these methods. 

But Lombroso is far too thoughtful of a filmmaker to settle for shock value; he’s interested in the “why,” both for the film’s main subject, Dallas entrepreneur Bill Moore, who is attempting to make these procedures more commonplace, and the men who feel as though an enlarged penis might just be their salvation. It’s in these dovetailing narratives that “Manhood” settles on something much more surprising and tender: a tale of men learning to love themselves and rid themselves of shame. 

Lombroso, to his credit, examines the procedure at multiple levels. There are the messages men receive, from frequent consumption of pornography to targeted advertisements, that tell men that the pinnacle of self-satisfaction they may receive is having an enlarged penis. There are people like Moore, who see insecurity as a potential market and thus offer services. Then there are the men themselves, who decide to spend their money on a procedure simply because it’s available. These all work in tandem. We all wrestle with where to put our rage and shame, and for many, Moore offers a way to offset some of it. It makes one wonder how, in our society, apart from the confession booth, we might create space for people to give voice to their shame and, in doing so, be freed by it. 

I ultimately left “Manhood” with more questions, and I’m grateful for the way it galvanized my imagination. Whenever there are procedures like Moore’s available, I’m always more interested in their popularity than in their prevalence. Say what you will about plastic surgery, GLP-1 drugs, or penis enlargement, people clearly come to these procedures to have some need of theirs met; they find that their insecurities and frustrations can be solved in some part through these actions. Ultimately, “Manhood” is interested not just in the procedures but in the questions and wrestlings that lead people to adopt them in the first place. As a doctor says, “I can fill your penis with filler, but I cannot fill the hole in your heart.” 

On a larger level, what are we doing to help give space and voice to those who feel out of place and believe that undergoing such a procedure is their only option? Lombroso’s documentary is a way to start that conversation. The film articulates, to my mind, a hopeful vision of masculinity, one where we can truly learn what it means to be content with our bodies and selves, even the parts we find shame in. 

Deon Taylor’s “Drift” opens with a bold statement that none of what we see is AI-generated. It’s a grounding way to begin his film, which features stunts and scenarios so breathtaking that it’s hard to believe what we’re seeing. Yet what could have been a highlight reel for its subject, instead dives into exploring deeper questions of the psyche. The subject in focus is Isaac Wright, a photographer and army veteran who gained notoriety for scaling the world’s tallest structures and taking pictures, usually from the POV of his shoes. 

The results feel otherworldly, as we see him dangle his feet from the Empire State Building to the Ambassador Bridge. Tracing Wright’s various excursions, Taylor isn’t content with making the film a montage of the daredevil’s greatest hits; he wants to understand what would compel Wright to risk his life and imprisonment. 

Through interviews and voiceover, Wright sheds his larger-than-life persona to articulate the traumas that have shaped him and pushed him to try to escape the problems below by climbing above. From abuse to family deaths, there’s much for Wright to be mournful about, and it makes sense why he would choose to spend more time above ground than below it. While there is dedicated time for talking-head interviews, much of the film also consists of steadicam footage as we follow Wright on his climb to his next destination. He reveals a bit more of his backstory each time; we quite literally see his justification for each step that he takes. It manifests in one particularly thrilling sequence in which Wright climbs a building in Cincinnati, and Taylor uses a split screen, interweaving Wright’s escape with scenes of the police chasing him. It’s nail-biting to witness them quite literally close the gap. 

It’s also a scathing indictment of the ways this country will continue to fail those who serve in its military. While Wright would have been tried for trespassing regardless, the film mentions how, because of Wright’s military background, he’s viewed as more of a threat and is often pursued and tried as if he were one of America’s most wanted murderers. 

Furthermore, Taylor is sure to highlight how race has played a role in the response to Wright’s escapades. One detective, Ruberg, serves as the primary antagonist for most of the film, as he tries his hardest to get Wright convicted in every state where Wright illegally trespassed. Wright is quick to share how at each building where he evaded capture, he was never violent and never found with a weapon. Ruberg tries hard to release a picture of Wright looking as menacing as possible to turn the tide of public perception against Wright. 

It’s one of the many ways in which Taylor’s film advocates for the importance of storytelling that goes beyond the headlines we see. It’s easy to typecast Wright in one way after hearing what he does, but Taylor’s work is a powerful antidote to the ways we all too easily typecast people based on the little information we know about them. 

“The freedom to express is the greatest freedom that people have.” Above all else, “Drift” is a film that reminds people of that power. We may not express ourselves or deal with our pain through scaling buildings, but there’s something undeniably cathartic and powerful about witnessing someone who feels shackled by life finally get their wings.

from Roger Ebert https://ift.tt/v9eEJui